


Don't Deny What You Meant

by imperfectkreis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Backstory, Character Development, Enemies, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: Loqi's mother calls him "dearest." She calls his father, "love." Loqi knows he does not belong to them, but to the Empire.He is ten years old when he first sees Cor Leonis in battle. And Loqi knows he is destined for great things.





	1. Chapter 1

Loqi is ten, when he first understands who he is.

The family he's been placed with is kind enough, warm enough. Tummelt. The sound of it on his tongue, through his parted lips, pleases him. Tummelt. He plans on carrying their name into battle, when the time finally comes. 

His mother works in the Imperial laboratories, a chemist, mixing together precise solutions, experimenting with different combinations. She ties her dark hair high on the top of her head in a messy bun. She calls Loqi, “dearest,” and her husband, “love.” 

His father builds things with his hands. Pretty jewelry boxes, with gears that make music. He works so late into the night, that sometimes the bells keep Loqi awake. But he never complains.

Loqi knows he does not belong to them, but to the Empire.

So when the Chancellor comes to their door, removing his hat and bowing deep, Loqi’s family does not fight. They don't claw and screech or plead. He's still too young. He was born too old.

Ardyn takes Loqi’s hand, walking him to the waiting car. The Chancellor’s hand is cold.

“Aren't you very much excited?” Ardyn asks, slouching against the white leather seats. He is a cloud of black against a sky of spun silk. 

A tinted divider keeps the driver from listening in on their conversation. Loqi folds his hands in his lap.

“Yes, of course.”

Ardyn smiles, explaining it will be some years yet. But everyone is so very excited for Loqi’s debut. He was made for great things, after all. Even if Ardyn would have preferred a few, slight modifications to the design, no matter now.

Wrapping his hand around his wrist, Loqi nods politely.

They're going to the Lucian front.

The car drives directly into the open, gaping mouth of the Imperial transporter, docked just outside the city. Loqi can hear the engine roar. Once inside, the driver opens the door for the Chancellor, Loqi tumbling out after him.

Sticking close to the Chancellor’s tails, Loqi tries to keep pace. Ardyn Izunia stops for no one, even if he calls Loqi today’s guest of honor.

They march past rows of Magitek Troopers, their faces covered in metal masks. Loqi wonders if any of them look like him, wide eyes, full cheeks, small nose, blond hair. He can't imagine that they do. Because he's still young, and they're the size of men. Ardyn takes his hand again.

“You were meant for greater things.” 

They stay aboard the transport as the Troopers are deployed below. Over the sky of Lucis, Loqi has some sense of how truly small he is. Because the Troopers, now engaged in battle with the Lucian Kingsglaive, look like ants against the vast backdrop of the desert, stretching on beyond his sight lines.

“They're beautiful, aren't they?” Ardyn asks, coaching Loqi’s response.

Loqi watches as the Glaive annihilate the Troopers. With their slow responses, clumsy movements, they don't stand a chance, except in numbers. Numbers, the Empire has, but not skill.

“They're being slaughtered,” Loqi finally speaks up. He watches as a Glaive jumps from the cliffside, smashing into a pack of Troopers with his long, narrow katana drawn. He flattens four of them with a single strike, drawing fire from the King’s Well once he finds his feet.

When he turns, Loqi realizes he's not a Glaive. There’s no sword etched across his back.

The man smashes his fire spell into the crowd of prone Troopers, quaking at his feet.

“Ah yes, they call him Cor the Immortal,” Ardyn supplies.

Cor slices through the next wave of Troops, bringing them to their knees with sure strokes of his blade. He's beautiful in motion. Smart, adaptable, fierce. The opposite of what the Empire can fashion in their high-tech facilities.

“It is said he cannot die. But really, he's a coward.”

Lucis wins this round. Ardyn appears nothing but pleased. 

\--

Loqi enters the Imperial Military Academy upon his return to Gralea. 

He writes letters to his mother. She always writes back, saying how proud she is of him. His father says to stay safe. They both love him so much, what little time they had, they’ll always cherish.

He reads the entry about Cor Leonis in the Academy’s records. He is one of the men closest to the King of Lucis. Though he seldom ventures beyond the Wall, when he does, he is to be approached with extreme caution.

Cor made his debut in battle at fifteen. Loqi resolves to beat him by a mile. 

Training in hand-to-hand, in weapons, in piloting, Loqi earns top marks in every division. It doesn’t matter that he stays small, baby-fat still clinging to his cheeks. It doesn’t matter that the other students in his classes are older, faster, smarter, stronger. He wants it more than they do. So he wins.

And when he debuts at fourteen, he thinks it destiny that Cor is there, beating back Troopers with practiced strokes, sweat clinging to his forehead, turning the charcoal gray of his uniform to pitch.

Loqi breaks his line, just to have a chance to face him. He holds his spear close, ready to launch ahead, taking Cor by surprise. Stepping forward, he vaults, digging the speartip into the packed, Lucian earth and throwing himself feet-first at the Immortal. With enough velocity, it won’t matter that Cor is bigger. Loqi will take him to the fucking ground.

And for one, blissful moment, it works. He sends Cor reeling backwards, the back of his head smacking against the ground. Reaching into his belt, Loqi draws his knife, ready to stab at Cor’s thick throat.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to be the one to take down the Immortal.

But the moment passes, as swiftly as it has come. Cor is too composed to hesitate, knocking Loqi off of him, reaching for his own shortblade to transition seamlessly to close combat. 

Once pinned, under Cor’s unrelenting weight, Loqi knows this is over. He can take a dozen classmates, shirk their routine grapples, counter with a ferocity they’re likely to never see again, but Cor is better than all of them combined.

The edge of the blade comes to Loqi’s throat, cold and hard. He doesn't dare close his eyes. Cor stares back at him.

And then, he's gone.

Loqi pushes himself up, cursing that he was so weak to have been bested in the first place.

\--

After Loqi’s theatrics, he earns his first promotion. Then, not six months later, his second. On and on, a string of unprecedented successes. He's everything the Empire ever dreamed.

As he passes those in his cohort, promising soldiers from the Empire’s finest families, clawing a ranks to affix to their names, they say Loqi has an unfair advantage. They hate his cocky pride.

Loqi doesn't care, leaving his wrist bare. Let them see; let them talk. He knows he was built for this. He's learned to fucking love it. 

When he turns twenty, he's called Brigadier General. Every rank tastes sweeter than the last.

But he can still feel the metal at his neck. He still knows he's alive because of a second gift. One he doesn't deserve. 

\--

Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII dies. The whole city of Insomnia in flames. Loqi is not present, but he anticipates what is to come. Reports indicate the Crownsguard were under orders to evacuate the citizens of the Crown City, not to protect the King. Most of them are assumed to be alive. And dangerous, so, so dangerous. Loqi can't fucking wait.

\--

He fights the King’s brat at the blockade, with his three middling friends. But it's Cor he can't ignore.

Age has done little to dull Cor’s skill, slow his feet. He draws his blade and prepares to strike.

The Prince, now King in name, fights with scrapy ineloquence and shoddy spells. He warps ahead, trying to keep himself out of harm’s way as much as feasible. The little gunner’s aim is good, but his weapon shit against Loqi’s mech. He tries and tries, to little effect. 

When it comes to the tall, lanky man who wields the polearm, Loqi can only scoff. Loqi is better with his weapon of choice. Only one of the King’s companions fights with any sort of brutish skill, trying to cut down Loqi at his mech’s ankles with a sword of terrifying size.

No matter, Loqi is only interested in one thing.

When he fails, his mech breaking down, smoke clogging his lungs inside the metal cage, he wonders if he's the immortal now. Because this is not the hill he dies upon. And he remembers Ardyn’s words, that Cor is a coward. Loqi decides it's better to be a coward and alive, than a brave, dead man.

\--

After the darkness comes, there is no Empire to serve. Loqi belongs to no one.

He tries to find his mother first, but his childhood home is empty. Walking the streets of Gralea, he finds the city a husk, shriveled and dark and almost empty. What happened in the months he was deployed?

Survivors try to fend off daemons, creeping along once-grand avenues. This isn't the future he fought for. This can't be the Empire he served.

He tries to make his way to the Keep, to his mother’s laboratory. Maybe she decided it was safer for her and father inside. Loqi already knows he's wrong, but he can't help that his feet still want to travel. He can't stand still.

In the end, he can't get close enough to the Keep, much less search inside. The daemons beat him back, a fortification against unwanted visitors. He can only hope his parents made their escape. That they are safe. He hopes they are.

\--

Loqi survives because he is clever, fast, and strong. Not the cleverest, or the fastest, or the strongest, but enough. And, Astrals, he wants to live.

Rumors circulate that in Lucis, there is still light. A whole city of it, Lestallum. Loqi was there once, during the war. Walking the streets in Imperial white, never questioned, preening. His desire to return is based solely on the thought of survival.

He’ll fight the daemons, too. He’ll always fight, in this forgotten world. But he wants to be able to rest, sometimes. 

There are twelve of them in total, who make the trip from Gralea to the coast. One of them dies on the boat, sickness in their lungs. In a fit of fear, the others want to throw their body off the boat, worried that the daemons will take hold. Animate the body of their lost friend with heinous, dark claws, scratching to the surface.

Loqi stops them, tells them that’s not how daemons work. The corpse is useless now. And out on the water, they can’t be touched. They can bury their friend when they reach the Lucian coast.

One of the other passengers asks how he knows for certain?

Loqi covered his wrist when the Darkness came. He can’t give them an answer that they’ll accept.

In the end, the body hits the waves.

\--

Lestallum is less impressive than Loqi remembers. Then again, the world is now small, sad, and dark. He tries to forget the portion of this uncertain future that is his fault. Because he was complicit in Ardyn’s plot. Because he was built to the Empire’s specifications. 

He takes what little comfort he can in the fact he’s somewhat different than what Ardyn truly wanted.

At least they have power here. And the market is still open through the endless night. The wares have changed, fresh fruit and vegetables are near unheard of. But there’s fish and flesh and still stores of grain from before it became near-impossible to grow anything. 

Loqi wanders the stalls, trying to pass the time. He has enough money to find a place to sleep, he’s pretty sure. But he doesn’t even know where to begin. So he ends up sleeping in one of the alcoves off the main drag of shops, curling his knees tight to his body to keep in the warmth.

There’s no day, so technically there’s no night either. Loqi wakes after a few hours, walks the streets again. He watches the power plant from a distance. They must still be able to harvest from the meteor. Someone must be maintaining the substations dotted along the landscape. Someone has to hunt and someone has to cook and mend and it takes a lot of hands to keep society up and running. He’s going to find something he can do. He refuses to become a waste.

He can hunt and he can kill. Men and beasts and daemons. They’re not so different. So he finds a hunting party, tells them he knows how to fight. The woman eyes the pike strapped to his back. They’ll see what he’s got. No one breathes a word about his accent. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.

Turns out, Hunters are more solitary than a pack, which suits him just fine. After the woman with long, swept-back hair determines he can fight, watching him vault into packs of daemons without hesitation, she tells him that he can take jobs from the outposts now. Her name is Iris. She doesn’t give another. But Loqi knows she’s a King’s Shield, but there’s no King now. She looks little like her girlhood photographs.

The Hunters will supply him potions at a discount, as long as he can prove he’s taking down his fair share of daemons. Welcome to the team, she barks, reaching up to slap him on the shoulder.

\--

Keeping the roads clear is a priority. There’s not much travel between outposts anymore, but they have to keep what little infrastructure they have up and serviced. The Hunters clear the way for the technicians, electricians, engineers. Tradespeople are like emeralds, precious and rare. Hunters are a gil a dozen. Easy to replace. Still, Loqi is fucking good at what he does. 

Technically, he works out of Lestallum. Everyone does, but he spends long weeks, stretching into months, at an auxiliary camp, fighting back daemons to support seven people who are tending to a greenhouse in lower Duscae. The heat lamps and daylight bulbs run on battery generators. They might be able to grow small crops for years, as long as the Hunters can run the battery packs from the outpost back to Lestallum for charging. As long as the generators don’t break.

It’s quieter than Loqi expected, though he spends long hours trying to secure an ever growing perimeter around the greenhouse. He wants to widen the area of their influence, even if they can’t coax food from the rest of the abandoned farmland. Every inch he gains feels a triumph. 

The farmers don’t speak to him much, though they say they’re grateful for the help. They find him...cold. 

Loqi’s not sure that he minds, but he feels this knot inside himself, ready to fucking burst. He talks to himself as he fights, trying to keep up chatter. He narrates the mundane aspects of his life, straining for a connection to someone, somewhere. This isn’t what he hoped for when he crossed the sea.

He hears when the Hunting party arrives with the freshly charged batteries, ready to take the depleted ones away. It’s always different people who come, Hunters looking for an easier job in between more dangerous missions. The trip takes a long time, but for the most part, they don’t have to do much fighting, proving the road-units are doing their jobs. Nothing is without risk, though.

It would be considered rude if he didn’t greet them, so Loqi rolls out of bed, tugging on his boots. He’s pretty sure he still smells of daemon blood, even though he wiped down before heading to bed. The Hunters that arrived are probably worse off though.

He heads out of his shack and walks over to the main building, his feet already feeling like lead. He only sleeps a few hours at a time, having to make rounds again as the daemons spawn.

Even from a distance, he recognizes the bright shock of blond hair, speaking with one of the farmers. Prompto twirls his hands as he speaks, the rate of his voice rising as he prattles on, asking the farmer if there is anything else they need? He can’t make any promises, but he can try his best.

Prompto’s shirt sleeves are pushed up past his elbows, a tangle of cords and bracelets and leather bands around his left wrist, knocking together has he gestures.

Loqi hesitates. He’s not sure Prompto will recognize him. They met in battle only twice. Both times, Loqi was inside his mech. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if Prompto will see it too. Loqi didn’t recognize him the first time. Only after, looking at surveillance photographs of Noctis’ Crownsguard, did Loqi realize. He’d confirmed it too, reading through intelligence reports he shouldn’t have had access to. 

“Oh, hey!” Prompto turns to Loqi, sticking out his right hand, “Iris told me about you.” His smile is soft, unassuming. 

This is the first time he’s seen Prompto up close, in the flesh, not just photographs. His face is narrower, sharper featured in comparison to Loqi’s persistent softness. His hair is warm and golden, skin littered with freckles where Loqi’s is unblemished, save for a few troublesome moles placed few and far apart. There’s only the barest hint of resemblance between them. But they’re both clearly their father’s sons. 

They have the same eyes.

Loqi hasn’t seen Verstael in years. Even before the battle for the Citadel. He never felt the desire to stand in his shadow. Feel comfort or warmth or connection to the man. Verstael built them from his genes, but Loqi has little use for his...creator. 

“We’ve met, before,” Loqi scowls. He doesn’t wish to hide. It’s unimportant if Prompto harbors resentment towards him. Prompto might be a minor hero, one of the King’s chosen brotherhood, he might be Loqi’s brother too. But that doesn’t matter. Loqi will do what he must, as he always has.

Prompto looks away, then at his boots, the tops of his cheeks flushing red before looking up again. “I know,” he huffs. “But that’s in the past, right? Iris said, she said you want to help. That’s good enough for me, you know?”

Loqi nods, “I...see.”

“Okay well,” Prompto chirps, “I guess I should be off. It’s nice to finally see you. Blair says you’re great. Uh, let me know though, if you ever want to come along on another hunt, or something. It would be nice to have the company.” He’s just rambling now.

Loqi doesn’t get the chance to ask Prompto the question he really should. 

\--

Six weeks later, Iris sends his replacement, along with the charged battery packs. The new hunter is strong and good with an axe. He smiles at Loqi and shakes his hand, saying he hopes he can do half as good a job as Loqi has.

Loqi doesn’t mind one bit that he’s lost the cushy job he’s held onto for half a year. It’s a good opportunity for someone new to hone their skills, while still having a roof over their heads for a couple hours at a time.

He takes his polearm and his clothing, boots, and curatives, heading back out to the road. He’s open duty now, free to operate as he wants. Just needs to check in with HQ every once in awhile.

Lucis still feels small, when you can’t see very far. But Loqi’s seen it on maps, seen it on the ground, too. He knows it’s vast and mostly empty. Getting into the truck that drove the new guy over, he asks how far the driver is willing to take him?

“I’m heading to Old Lestallum,” the driver explains, “can drop you anywhere along the route.”

Loqi ends up traveling the whole way there. Needs to set up a base somewhere. So, he’ll assess the needs in Old Lestallum. If they don’t need more Hunters hanging around, at least they’ll be another ride out, eventually.

The driver tells him they’re delivering water. Some of the engineers got a purifier working. Never thought they’d see the day that water was in short supply. When you don’t think about it, when it rains with regularity, you just sort of assume clean water is a given. It’s not.

They might have to close up Old Lestallum soon. But the jugs of water he’s got in the back will keep them going, at least a little while longer.

\--

The supplier at the old Crow’s Nest says the local hunting party is due back soon. Best if Loqi waits to talk to them, about whether or not they could use more people. If not, he’ll have to head back East. Everything to the West is already boarded up. Right now, the motel is swollen with refugees heading to the city.

That means there’s no room for Loqi to catch some sleep, and for the first time he wonders if he should have stayed in Gralea. Could he be helping the people there? His people...Imperial subjects. He could have done just as much good across the sea. But some small part of himself doubts it. Because he’s seen Iris work. How much planning and effort and management and skill goes into running the Hunters here. Maybe now, with the knowledge he’s gained, he could do something for the former Empire, but he would have been lost a year ago. Sure, he could still kill daemons, but he couldn’t hold a civilization together from tattered scraps. 

When the Hunters arrive, Loqi’s first instinct is to run.

This isn’t like when he saw Prompto, a sense of coiling dread, sparks of fear about the unknown consequences of their meeting. This feeling is something darker, heavier, weighing down his bones and blotting out his breath.

Cor comes into the Crow’s Nest, blood dried against his cheek, running down the line of his neck, disappearing down his collar. The wound is already stitched, but he hasn’t had time to rub away the red. He talks briefly with the supplier and Loqi considers just fucking hiding under the table.

Cor has spared his life more than once.

And something about that is simply terrifying.

“Iris told me,” he slides in across from Loqi, a bottle of freshly arrived water between his palms. His eyes are icy and jaw set. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. And Loqi realizes, he’s just as stunning in quiet stillness as in motion. 

Loqi doesn’t look away, holding the Immortal’s eyes. Backing down is a show of weakness he can’t stand, even if his heart is pounding in his chest and he’s certain to throw up. “I suppose she’s told everyone.”

“You’re not the only person to arrive from the Empire,” Cor swigs down a gulp of water. Rubbing the side of his face, the blood starts flaking off, scattering across the table top. “Just the most notable. Other than your Chancellor.”

“He’s not mine,” Loqi sneers, “Not anymore.” Not ever. He played them all for fools.

Cor keeps his back straight, tucking his hands underneath the table. “You might have Iris convinced. But we’re not all so easy to forgive.”

Loqi fumes, but can’t quite find his tongue. 

“Naen said you wanted work. You can stay here.”

“But you hate me,” Loqi finally says.

“Yes,” Cor admits, “so I’d rather you stay where I can see you.”

So, Loqi stays.

\--

Cor doesn’t forgive him, or trust him, or think he’s a better man than the day he arrived in Lucis for the second time. Turns out, Cor Leonis doesn’t have to like Loqi to touch him.

And Loqi doesn’t fucking care, because he has Cor between his thighs, his mouth at Loqi’s neck, biting down on skin, making him hot all over in a way he’d say he hasn’t felt in years. But the truth is Loqi hasn’t felt like this ever, ever. When Cor pins him down by his wrists at camp, the starless sky overhead, and says if Loqi doesn’t want this, he’d better say something now before Cor makes a fucking fool out of himself.

At the back of his throat, Loqi’s sure he’s about to scream. He’s going to scream at the Astrals and his father and at the Empire and all of history. Because he was built for great things. And Loqi knows he wants this. He fucking does. But he wants this as Cor’s equal. He’s never wanted his pity. But that’s all he’s ever fucking gotten.

“Fuck me,” Loqi thrusts his hips up, slamming into Cor. Without his arms loose, there’s little he can do. But he wraps his legs around Cor’s waist, trying to drag him down, keep him close. Every other time, one of them has run away.

Loqi isn’t sure he wants Cor to feel affection for him, but he wants to meet the Immortal head on and win. And they can get there through rivalry just fine. Sometimes people fit, even if they weren’t made for each other. Sometimes time and circumstance grinds you down through the years, until you slot together, not by design, but by labor. 

By the time Cor is sheathed inside him, warm and full and both of them slick with lube, Loqi’s not so certain they always had to end up here. With his hands free, he grabs hold of Cor’s broad shoulders, bare and cut through with thick, heavy scars. Loqi presses his thumbs against Cor’s neck. It would be so easy to just squeeze down as Cor fucks into him, their hips slamming together and voices faint. Cor hasn't even taken off his pants, just shoved them down enough to pull his cock free and slide in.

Cor drops his head low enough that they could kiss. They could. It would be so easy for Loqi to lift his head, touch their mouths together, bite down on Cor’s bottom lip. He could make this frantic, rough, violent. He could make this into many things. And Loqi aches, he aches so much for the hundreds, thousands of people he could not be. 

He can’t be anyone Cor could ever trust. Ever love. It’s beyond the realm of possibility. But Loqi can’t help but think, in a small way, he’s won. And he’s won without Cor losing. Knowing that makes Loqi giddy. The comparison starts to fall apart. Cor won’t close his eyes, and neither will Loqi. They see enough of the dark already.

Cor pulls Loqi up off the ground, making him straddle over his lap, Loqi’s legs spread over his thighs. He holds him close, arms wrapped around Loqi’s back, so they stay chest to chest as Loqi starts to ride.

They have to stay quiet, it’s not safe, otherwise.

To hell with it.

Loqi slams their mouths together, with more force than he intended. Cor freezes for a moment, before parting his lips and letting Loqi continue his quiet assault.

Oh, and like this, it feels almost….

Cor pulls out before he comes, dragging them back together, so they’re still chest to chest, hip to hip, as Cor pulls him through his orgasm, clever hands working Loqi’s cock until he has to bite down on Cor’s shoulder to keep from shouting. He knows his mark will fade, compared to the rest. But in that moment, it feels like he could own this. Keep it close and call it his.

By the time they’ve both come, breathing hard and sweat sticking between their bodies, Loqi is clear headed enough to know this doesn’t change a fucking thing. He’ll always be the enemy, no matter how he tries to wash away who he was, he is, written across his wrist and in his genetic code, and a whole history of his transgressions against this world. It’s not enough to say he didn’t know.

(He didn’t.)

Cor finds his feet, buttoning his pants back up and looking for his shirt. Loqi doesn’t bother. His pants have got to be somewhere somewhat close. He’s not entirely sure where Cor tossed them as they scrambled to get undressed. 

Cor ends up finding them, bringing them back before tugging on his own shirt. They were supposed to be sleeping. Their lantern has six hours left, before they’ll have to head back to Old Lestallum. 

From his rumpled jacket, Cor pulls a crushed pack of cigarettes. Loqi’s never actually seen anyone smoke. Went out of style a long time ago. Now, he supposes, there aren’t any cigarettes left to have. 

Cor makes sure to use the whole thing, finishing it off in silence while Loqi watches, scuffing his still-bare feet in the dirt. He won’t give Cor the satisfaction of speaking first, of giving in. Even if only ten minutes ago, they were both falling down. 

“I try every day,” Cor finally says, “to be a better man than I was yesterday.” He shakes his head, “And I think I’m starting to succeed, only to fail again.”

Loqi’s not sure whether or not he’s Cor’s current failure. Or some sort of tarnished success. 

Maybe Loqi can make this one concession. Staring into the lamp, he tries to outdo Cor’s confession, “I try every day to be a better man than you.”

Cor smiles, shaking his head and grinding the filter of his cigarette into the dirt.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a sharp knock at the shack door. Loqi tries to kick backwards, into Cor’s shins to wake him up. Pulling the blankets high over his head, Loqi can totally hide. No one even needs to know he's there. No one needs to know he and Cor are sleeping together.

More than that, Loqi realizes, his stomach twisting. At first, it was just...fucking. They were spending so much time together, the only two daemon hunters left in Old Lestallum. Always in each other’s orbit. Cor didn't trust Loqi one bit. No number of good deeds could convince the Immortal otherwise. But it was inevitable, maybe, that they'd look to each other for some sort of lingering comfort.

Loqi isn't ashamed for it. He could never be. Cor has been his fascination for a decade, this great, shining thing he was drawn towards, but could never touch. Now he does. Sleeping in Cor’s bed, Cor’s arm thrown around his waist. It feels more like home than Loqi has known in those ten years, maybe more. 

So he's not ashamed. But Cor is. Loqi isn't stupid.

But the knock comes a second time, and Cor still hasn't moved. Loqi flips over to shove at Cor’s chest. It must be a resupply from the city. And Loqi would open the door but then whoever it is would know about him and Cor.

Except Cor isn't there.

Shit.

Loqi sits up, scanning the shack from end to end. His breathing hitches. Where the fuck is Cor?

“Cor? You there?”

Loqi recognizes the voice as Iris. He's too much in a panic now to think straight, grabbing a shirt up off the floor and pulling it on. He doesn't bother looking for pants. Tugging open the top dresser drawer, Loqi looks for Cor’s handheld radio. The cell towers don't work anymore, but the radios do. Cor’s is gone though.

In a daze, he heads to the door, flipping the lock and opening it for Iris. Her dark eyes go a little wide at first, but she doesn't look all the surprised to find an anxious Loqi in his boxers and, fuck it, one of Cor’s old Crownsguard shirts. Loqi literally could not have picked something more incriminating to wear.

“Is Cor busy?” she asks, a soft, knowing smile on her lips.

Loqi scowls. He likes Iris, he really does. She gave him the benefit of the doubt when he came to Lucis. She didn't have to do that. “I...don't know. He was gone when I woke up. He took his radio.”

“Oh,” Iris picks up the bag she's dropped on the ground, shoving it into Loqi’s hands. Reaching into her pack, she grabs her handheld, turning to Cor’s frequency and hailing him.

Loqi has manners, after all, so he steps aside so Iris can come in. After dropping the supply bag on the kitchen table, he goes to flip the lights on, so they're not stumbling around in the dark. He grabs pants too.

Through the radio, Cor’s voice comes across, clipped and direct, “Driving.” Loqi can make out the gentle thump when Cor drops the radio onto the passenger seat of his coupe.

“Okay, I brought your resupply,” Iris chirps into the radio, “I'll hang out with Loqi a bit. When will you be back?”

Cor doesn't answer. Iris just shrugs, clipping the radio to her waist.

Loqi's not entirely sure how to make small talk in this situation. He's never considered himself to be particularly introverted. Quite the opposite really. His classmates at the Academy probably longed for him to shut up. In the military, he mostly had the advantage of rank, ensuring that even if his conversation partners didn't give a fuck, they had to listen. Cor tells him to be quiet, more often than not. Except sometimes, in the evenings, he lets Loqi prattle on about nothing for as long as he'd like, contributing little to the conversation.

“Thank you, for the supplies,” Loqi stretches, “Things are alright in Lestallum, I take it?”

“Mm, we’re centralizing there more and more. It's easier than serving civilians at outposts. The fewer people we have to support out here, the easier it is for the hunters. I don't want to cede ground.” Iris kicks out her feet under the table, resting her heels on the opposite chair. Loqi normally sits in that one, facing towards the door. Cor sits with his back to it, when they eat around the table.

“So you're not thinking about pulling us out?” Loqi asks.

“Some of the engineering crews think they can get more power out to the satellite settlements within the next twenty-four months. So we need the Hunters to hold the outposts until then. But you guys are almost self-sufficient. It's not a strain to keep you on your feet.”

They talk shop for awhile, Iris laying out the Hunters’ plans with efficiency. It doesn't occur to Loqi until twenty minutes in, that this means Iris trusts him, completely. He answers back honestly, admitting that sometimes they do go hungry, but never more than a day or two. So it's manageable. That might only because there are two of them here, and Loqi lacks the patience for fishing.

Iris laughs at that, shoving a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She says she's growing it out. It will be easier to manage if she can tie it back.

Loqi rifles his fingers through his own hair, he's kept it loose, just a touch long. It's never bothered him before. But he wonders if it would be better if he trimmed it short or grew it longer or what. It is a bit of a mess, now that he's living beyond the edges of civilization.

“I was going to say,” Iris beams, “we can transfer you to another outpost if you'd like. But, I guess you like it here with Cor, eh?”

Loqi rolls his eyes. He's been standing against the wall, his foot tapping against the chipping paint. Grabbing at the back of Cor’s empty chair, he pulls it away from the table, forcing Iris’ feet to fall against the floor. He sits across from her, laying his palms flat on the table. 

“Tell me something, Iris,” so far, at least, she's been an open book. “Why are you doing this? Why fight so hard?” Loqi came to Lucis, expecting life here to be better than the former Imperial territories. And it is. There's structure here, organization, people looking out for each other, sharing resources. And a lot of that is Iris’ doing.

Smiling, Iris drums her fingers against the table, before reaching for the pistol at her waist. She favors the broadsword, like her brother. Though hers is on a much smaller scale to fit her frame. But she uses the pistol as a side arm. Double checking, she makes sure the chamber is empty, the clip too, before she starts to take the gun apart. 

“You have cleaning supplies?” she asks.

Loqi uses a gun as his secondary arm as well, so he has a cleaning kit for it, stashed underneath Cor’s cot. He stands to get the box to give to Iris, noticing how she snickers as he sorts through his things. It's weird. Loqi almost thinks he owns more things now, in this tiny one-room house he shares with Cor, than he's had since he was taken from his parents.

He passes her the kit, sitting down again across from her. To pass the time, he starts taking apart his own firearm. Might as well.

“You know about my family, right?” Iris asks, her eyes and hands busy with the gun.

“The King’s Shield.”

“Yep,” her eyes never waver. “The Amicitias have been in service to the line of Lucis for generations. Technically, I guess, we’re noble ourselves. Not that it much matters. But my father served as Regis’ Shield, accompanied him since he was a boy. They practically grew up together.

“Gladio, my brother, is only a couple years older than Noctis...so...he always knew. He always knew one day, he'd serve the Prince, the future King. I don't think...I don't think Gladio liked Noctis very much at first. But they were so, so young. And...well, I guess you don't know. But my brother can be quite stubborn.”

“I have some idea,” Loqi admits. He did fight Noctis and his retainers twice, after all.

“Well. I suppose...there wasn't really a role for me. Regis never had another child. But I trained all the same. I don't think my instructors took it seriously. ‘Little Iris, a Shield without a King.’ But, there wasn't any other path for me to take. And so, I trained for an heir who never was.

“I think, just for a second. When Noctis and Luna were going to get married,” she looks down at her dirtied hands, “I thought that it was finally going to be worth it. If they had a child, before Gladio did, then I could be their Shield. I'd be equal to my father and brother, have everything they had.”

“But of course,” Loqi interjects, “that didn't come to pass, either.”

“No,” Iris sighs. “When the darkness came, and didn't leave, and the daemons rose up from the ground. I decided to stop waiting for my destiny.” She starts putting her gun back together, slotting metal against metal until it clicks into place. “I had learned a lot. Not just about fighting, but about organizing, provisioning, conflict negotiation. What I didn't learn in my lessons, I learned from my father’s side. Following him like a shadow. He always told me I was in the way. But,” she smiles, “I like to think, if he saw me now, he'd be proud of the woman I've become.”

“I didn't know your father,” Loqi winces. He wasn't even at the fall of Insomnia, instead positioned out over Duscae, waiting to be brought in to hold down the blockades. “But I don't think anyone could deny what you've accomplished here.”

Finished with her gun, Iris rocks back on her chair, “I answered your question, so you answer mine. Why is it you're here. Really?”

Loqi hesitates. “There’s nothing left for me in Niflheim. So I came here,” he drums his fingers against the table. “That’s all.”

“Are there...still people left?” she asks.

“Some,” Loqi wraps his hand tight around his covered wrist. Now is not the time. Even Cor does not know. “It is safer, here. I did not know for certain that it would be. But it is.”

“It’s okay,” Iris says, “to rely on other people. You know. I’m surprised, by you and Cor. Neither of you like depending on others. Yet here you are.” Kicking out under the table, she taps her boot against Loqi’s shin.

The door opens, Cor stepping inside. He smells faintly of ooze. Must’ve been fighting daemons then. No matter. While sometimes Cor and Loqi fight together, they are just as likely to strike out alone. They are both skilled enough to know their limits.

Iris hops up from the chair, coming up onto her toes to try and hug him. Even so, she can’t quite reach Cor’s shoulders. Loqi excuses himself, so they can have some privacy. He assumes Iris wishes to speak to Cor, but not to him.

Cor doesn’t try to stop him, but Iris does. Loqi brushes off her concern. She and Cor should catch up. It’s fine, he can wait outside.

Taking his lance with him, Loqi intends to head out into the darkness. While the daemons are technically endless, deliberately drawing them at the outposts keeps them from spawning so thickly closer into the city.

He doesn't have to stray very far, before the first imps scamper out. Loqi knows he can down a pack of five or six with little trouble. More than that, and he needs support.

This pack has only four, little monsters with sharp teeth and sharper voices, chittering as they dash towards him. Taking two steps forward, Loqi digs his spear into the ground, vaulting over the entire pack, so he can take them from behind.

Daemons don't learn from their mistakes. They die, unable to pass on the knowledge they've acquired to their compatriots.

But Loqi, Loqi learns with every step, every slice. He gets better at what he does. He's not like the daemons. Or the other magitek soldiers, the nameless ones, infected. He's not. He won't let this darkness devour him.

He runs the first imp through on the point of his spear, using its carcass to bash bluntly into the next daemon. What Loqi lacks in brute strength, he makes up with leverage, kicking the imp off of the end of his lance before chasing after the third.

Using a spear gives him better reach than a sword possibly could, and without the excess weight of the broadsword. It's perfect for him. He was perfect for the mech too. Small and compact, able to hold still for hours, after being carefully disciplined at the academy. The finest specimen that the laboratories could produce at the time.

Once the imps are dispatched, Loqi considers pulling another pack, running himself down to exhaustion. But it's not safe. And he's just not that self-destructive. So with the daemons defeated, he heads back towards Old Lestallum. 

Iris might hesitate to leave without properly saying goodbye. She's too tied to her manners.

By the time he makes it back to the outpost, Iris is climbing into her truck. She stops when she sees Loqi, waiting long enough to hug him goodbye. Wishing them both luck, she climbs up into the cab. Cor helps her slam the door shut, before she drives off.

Not speaking a word to Loqi, Cor heads back inside. Loqi trots after him, shutting the door behind them.

Cor starts on making lunch, not bothering to ask Loqi what he would like. There's not a lot in terms of choice. Dried fish mostly, whatever grain Iris brought. Fresh food is at a premium, even in Lestallum. They can't afford to send any to the outposts. 

They both take vitamin tablets to supplement what they're missing in their meals. It's been dark for more than two years now. No one knows how long it will last.

Loqi sprawls out on the cot while Cor finishes up preparing lunch, flipping through a book he's already read twice. Maybe he should have asked Iris to send something to read, next time they get a resupply.

“Come eat,” Cor urges, putting down two plates.

Loqi can't bear to keep quiet anymore. Cor might be okay with the silences, but Loqi’s not. “Iris says she plans on keeping us out here as long as possible. I don't know if she spoke to you about the possibility. But if we’re to remain here, we should look into total self-sufficiency. At my last posting, they were able to grow--”

“Loqi,” Cor interrupts.

“What?” he doesn't mean to snap, but he's so surprised by Cor’s interjection, that it just slips out.

But Cor doesn't frown, though his face is more often sad than not. Even when he kisses Loqi, running his hands along his sides.

“Just, let me think, for a moment.”

Loqi purses his lips, tapping his feet against the floor. 

When Cor speaks again, it's slow, deliberate, “Do you want to be here?”

“Of course I do,” he doesn't hesitate, “why would you--”

Cor pushes back from the table, standing up. On instinct, Loqi stands as well. A part of him still fears Cor the Immortal, even though he doubts very much Cor would lay a hand on him. Otherwise, he wouldn't let Cor touch him between the sheets.

Dropping his hands to Loqi’s waist, Cor dips his head low. Low enough to kiss Loqi’s parted lips. But he stops just short. “Do you want to be here, with me?”

Loqi tries to laugh it off, deflect the intensity of Cor’s gaze. But the sound catches in his throat, coming out a garbled mess. “Of course,” Loqi admits, his hands fisted in the front of Cor’s shirt.

“You're wearing my shirt,” Cor points out. “You look good in Lucian Black.”

This time Loqi manages the laugh, “I look better in you.”

Cor cracks a smile, however brief, “Iris asked me, if I was happy with you. She said...I look happier.”

Loqi shrugs, but it's hard to look casual with Cor this close, his heat and the scent of his skin is overwhelmingly near. “I wouldn't know. I don't know what you look like when I'm not here.” That's only partially the truth. Because Loqi knows he's happier here than any time since he was taken from his parents. And if Cor can't feel an ounce of that, something is seriously wrong with him.

“How can I trust you, even after what you did….who you are?”

Cor has never been able to quite let go. Loqi is a “Niff,” but he's something else though. Vaster, and more dangerous.

“But you like me,” Loqi doesn't mean for his voice to be quite so soft. “You want me here.”

Sighing, Cor moves his hands from Loqi’s hips, wrapping them tight around his waist instead. The intimacy of it takes Loqi by surprise. “I'm not certain.”

Cor is a terrible liar. Because their toothbrushes are side by side in a chipped cup above the sink. Their shoes are kicked somewhere on the floor, because neither of them are careful to put them away properly. And Cor goes out sometimes, early in the morning to fish, and doesn't say a damn thing about it, because Loqi just plain sucks at catching anything. The sheets smell of their sweat and sex. But Cor can't say he wants Loqi here.

“Liar,” Loqi calls him on it, pulling Cor down by his collar to press their lips together. 

Cor opens his mouth to him, blunt teeth and moist gums. Loqi’s never been sure that he does this right, but Cor doesn’t correct him, just easing their bodies together. If they stay like this too long, Cor’s neck and back will hurt, Loqi’s feet will get sore from coming up on his toes. 

So what if they don’t fit as well as they should? Not everything is designed to be without flaw.

“Liar, liar,” Loqi sing-songs, when Cor pulls away. He won’t force Cor to admit to something. Loqi has too much pride for that. If it stings, he’ll keep that to himself. 

It’s enough, for now, that Cor pushes him back towards the bed, with his hands scrambling to open the front of Loqi’s pants. 

It’s enough that Loqi’s got Cor on his knees, between his spread thighs. That Cor licks wetly at his cock before throating him down, bobbing his head and keeping those big hands spread over Loqi’s stomach, just barely rucking up his shirt. Loqi looks good in Lucian Black, Cor said. Doesn’t want to take it off him. 

Cor pillows his lips over his teeth and sucks down hard, keeping Loqi tight in the perfect o of his mouth. Thumbs pushing in at Loqi’s navel, making him tighten as he’s squeezed. There’s a certain kind of finesse in the intensity of it. Like the way Cor fucks him too, with singular determination. 

Cor’s eyes are closed for now. But maybe that’s for the best. 

Loqi grabs onto Cor’s shoulders, his head tipping back as he comes in Cor’s mouth. Just as sharp and fast as he always does. It’s almost embarrassing. If it wasn’t so good. Loqi shouldn’t be ashamed by how much he likes this. Even if Cor can’t make up his fucking mind. 

When Cor sits back, wiping his mouth with one hand, Loqi falls back against the mattress, covering his face with his hands. He laughs, but doesn’t bother pointing out that Cor is a hypocrite. No one made him do that. No one forces him to be kind to Loqi. And he is kind. 

There’s just that one thing. 

Though they’re both still dressed, Cor climbs into the cot, tugging at Loqi’s shoulder and back until they’re laying side by side. He runs his hand through Loqi’s loose hair, fidgeting in a way he tries to hide, most of the time. But Loqi knows enough now, to recognize that Cor is still brimming with nervous energy. He wonders if it’s a relic from Cor’s youth. Makes Loqi think that he’ll never grow out of his constant chatter either. What Loqi does with his voice, Cor does with his hands. 

“You’re right,” Cor admits, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Loqi stretches just enough, to press a kiss against Cor’s neck, right over the apple of his throat. Saying anything more right now would be obscene.


	3. Chapter 3

“If it’s what you want, you should leave,” Cor says, his arms wrapped around Loqi’s sweat-slick back.

Loqi hisses through his teeth, “Now is not the time for this conversation.” Lifting his hips up, he drops back down, hard enough to bruise Cor’s pelvis, if he keeps it up. And he will. Once Loqi sets his mind to something, he doesn’t think a damn about half-measures.

Loqi is this foreign, ethereal light in the dimness of the Hunters’ shack they share, just on the edge of Old Lestallum. 

Loqi’s tight heat wraps around Cor’s cock as he rides him, white-blond hair sticking to Loqi’s flushed cheeks. He pins both of his hands to the center of Cor’s chest as he rides, fingers splayed wide over Cor’s pecs, dangerously brushing over his nipples. Loqi knows exactly what he’s doing, even if sometimes he still plays coy. 

They’re both breathing heavy, clinging close. And it’s the closeness that makes Cor’s head spin. One of the number of things he ignores about the man in his arms. The way their histories bend and intersect. Nothing is about to change their past, even if Loqi is beautiful in this moment.

“Cor,” comes Loqi’s strangled gasp. His cock strains against Cor’s stomach as he tries to rub himself off against the plane of Cor’s abdomen. Cor’s midsection is a little softer again this year. Comes with age. Loqi is fleshy in places too, though their diet is sparse and utilitarian, youth clings to Loqi’s cheeks.

Cor drops his hands from Loqi’s back down to his hips, biting down hard with his nails as he thrusts up to meet Loqi’s writhing body. He moves his right hand lower still, wrapping tight and firm around Loqi’s leaking cock. Thumbing over the head, he feels the way the sensation makes Loqi clench down hard around him. Every time they fuck, it’s like Loqi has something to prove.

“Astrals, yes,” Loqi pants, dropping his head low enough that his hair brushes against Cor’s chest, “Fuck me, Cor…”

Cor flips them over, so he's the one holding Loqi in place. Loqi lets out a frustrated puff of air as his back hits the mattress, springs squeaking their protests. Cor grinds his hips down, filling Loqi to the brim. The force of it pushes Loqi’s mouth open. His eyes start to drift closed, but Loqi corrects himself, keeping from looking away. Gritting his teeth, Loqi claws down on Cor’s shoulders, trying to rock back, even as he's pinned down by Cor’s weight.

They don't have a headboard, but the metal bed frame bangs against this shack wall on every thrust. They're alone out here, the civilians long-relocated to the city. It's just the two of them and the darkness. Even so, Cor stays quiet, panting on each hurried thrust, while Loqi can't shut up.

“Just like that, Cor, oh, Astrals, there, there, fuck me, Cor,” he whines. Loqi’s nails aren't long, but he scratches across Cor’s back with such ferocity that Cor is certain he's broken the barrier of his skin. “Astrals, Cor, you're so big, yes…”

Cor almost laughs at that, though it would almost certainly crush Loqi’s resolve. But Loqi sounds like something out of a tawdry net-vid. And though they've never talked about it directly, Cor is fairly certain that Loqi’s experience before him was extremely limited, simply from how quickly Loqi switches between headstrong bravado and careful, quiet consideration whenever Cor denies him anything.

But for the time being, Cor puts his concerns aside, though he has many. A mountain of indiscretions he should stop committing. He grabs Loqi around his thick thighs, pushing them back towards his head. Loqi’s eyes go wide as Cor thrusts into him again, able to go just that fraction deeper in the new position.

Loqi paws at his own cock, jerking himself with hurried strokes until he spills across his stomach. He bites into Cor’s jaw as he comes, a messy, misdirected kiss turning into sharp, determined teeth. Cor lets up, slowing the pace and letting Loqi relax his legs. Loqi is still wet with lube and pliantly open, his body relaxing into the sheets now that he's come.

Cor pulls out as he draws close, wrapping his hand around his erection to finish himself off. He comes in thick spurts across Loqi’s stomach, mixing their cum across his abdomen. Loqi is still breathing heavy, but even. His eyes alert. Cor holds himself over his...Loqi’s prone body, letting the static in his muscles fade.

“You could've...finished in me,” Loqi says, dragging his fingers through the mess on his stomach.

Cor grunts, finally managing to get out of bed. He stumbles towards the bathroom to get something for Loqi to wipe himself down. “You say that,” Cor calls from the bath. The bathroom is so small he can barely turn around in it. “But you always complain about cleaning up afterwards.”

Loqi reaches up and out, opening and closing his fist for the towel Cor’s brought. “Yeah, but...it's hot,” Loqi argues, taking the towel and trying to wipe up his stomach. What he really needs is a shower, but with water supplies the way they are, he won't be able to get one until after he's done his hunting rounds.

“You think it's hot until you've gotten off, then you hate it,” Cor responds, taking the towel back to toss in the laundry pile.

Loqi stretches his hands over his head, knuckles bumping against the shack wall. He doesn't breathe a word about what Cor said earlier, and Cor knows Loqi will just ignore it. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cor rests his elbows on his knees, then his face on his hands, “I meant what I said. If you want to be relocated, you should just go.”

Loqi goes stone-still, not so much as breathing, staring up at the metal roof, “Fuck you, Cor.”

“You said you didn't want to transfer to the Vesperpool. I understand,” Cor continues. And he does understand. It's a dangerous posting. None the Hunters haven't held a position that far north in over a year. But Iris has put feelers out, and Cor thinks that if anyone should put themselves at risk in such an isolated posting. It should be him.

And it shouldn't have to be Loqi.

“You don't want to die Cor. And neither do I. So stop fucking talking about the Vesperpool,” Loqi sneers. Getting out of bed, Loqi grabs up his underwear before rifling through his pile of clean clothes on the floor, pulling on something appropriate for his patrol. Everything is fairly nondescript under his armor, a faded blue shirt, jeans that are both too tight on his frame and too long at the ankles. Loqi tucks the ends of them into his boots in silence as he finishes getting ready.

Cor waits until Loqi is out the door, his sidearm on his hip and lance across his back, before starting to get dressed himself. Loqi still doesn't have a radio, but that's never been a problem. Cor drags his hand down his face and looks for his slacks.

\--

Fighting comes with practice, Cor’s light steps falling into place with the swinging of his arms. He sweeps across a line of daemons, before striking sharply into the belly of the last dark creature, sending it stumbling backwards. 

The goblins give way. But Cor can hear another daemon rising from the ground behind him. A few quick steps and he puts distance between himself and the next wave. He needs the time and space to reassess his tactics.

The Arachne sinks its front talons into the ground, pulling itself up from the depths of the void beneath Eos. Cor curses under his breath. He would have preferred more goblins.

Reaching to his belt, he swaps one ring for another, suring himself up against lightning damage. He clips the chain of rings back to his belt, holding his katana defensively at first.

He waits, biding his time as the Arachne finds its feet. He gains nothing from rushing in.

Cor has had to learn again how to move, to fight, to win. From the moment King Regis died, he has been retraining his arms and legs. Enough time has passed that he no longer reaches for powers he does not possess. But sometimes, he still feels the hollow ache, where the King’s Well should be. The magic he learned to wield at fifteen, at his disposal for thirty years, now just an echo, too distant to really hear.

The Arachne skitters from side to side, blinking its dozen eyes in confusion. As long as Cor does not move, it cannot see him. Only when he is ready, does he strike, committing himself entirely on the success of the first blow. He jumps up in the air, bringing his katana down with a hard crack across the monster’s back, forcing it to stumble and screech.

He side steps away as the daemon lunges, blind pain slowing its movement. Already desperate and injured, the Arachne is unpredictable, but clumsy.

When it slashes again, lightning crackling across its carapace, Cor rolls underneath the daemon’s swollen thorax. He kicks up with both legs, smashing his boots into its soft underbelly. The Arachne comes crashing down on top of him. Ready for the extra weight, Cor braces himself for impact, grabbing his knife from his hip and reading to strike. He has little time to act. If he doesn't finish off the Arachne fast enough, he'll be smothered.

But knowing how to work efficiently, Cor carves up the monster’s stomach, it's warm entrails spilling out across him. But once the daemon dies, it begins to break up into hot ash. Cor scrambles to his feet, as to not get burned. Bushing at his coat, he's sticky and smells like shit. Fruitlessly, he rubs at his face, trying to pull away the film of daemon slime.

He's won. He's survived. Again.

The walk back to the Hunter’s shack is quiet, as it often is. If he and Loqi have drawn enough daemons, they'll need more time to spawn again.

Loqi is already home and showered, water droplets clinging in his light hair. With a book in one hand, he uses the other to pick through his dinner, leftover broiled fish from yesterday. He doesn't look up from his reading as Cor comes in.

\--

A runner drops off the invitation, along with a bundle of supplies. It's handwritten, on heavy cardstock, with Iris’ looping handwriting. The envelope is addressed to both he and Loqi. There's a threat after the date and time, saying that if they don't both show, Iris will personally drive down to kick their butts.

“I can't believe she's turning nineteen,” Cor mumbles, tossing the invitation towards the kitchen table. 

Loqi looks away from his reading, leaning forward to grab the letter. He pulls the card from the envelope, frowning as he reads, “Are we going?” He looks back at Cor.

Cor scoffs, “we can't leave Old Lestallum undefended.”

Waving the card, Loqi replies, “obviously we can. Iris wouldn't have invited us otherwise.”

“She's only being polite,” Cor shakes his head, “you can go, if you'd like.”

Loqi scowls, “I can’t drive, you asshole.”

“You were a mech pilot…” Cor says, honestly in shock. The thought hadn't even occurred to him, that Loqi wouldn't know how to drive a car. They have a car here at the outpost. But Cor is always the one who drives. It's his car, after all.

“Like they would let-” Loqi freezes, his face falling, “never mind.”

\--

Cor resolves to teach Loqi to drive, if he comes back after Iris’ party. There isn't enough time for him to learn in a week, then drive all the way to Lestallum in the darkness. It wouldn't be safe. But if he comes back...Cor will teach him.

Instead, he radios Monica to come pick Loqi up, if it isn't too much of a hassle. Monica says that's fine, if Cor doesn't want to drive. Cor tries to explain again, “I'm not coming,” but Monica doesn't seem to get it.

On the day of the party, Loqi fusses with his hair in front of the bathroom mirror. It's long enough now that he ties it back in a low ponytail, to keep it off his face. Cor can almost admit he likes how his hair feels, running down the backs of his hands when he cradles Loqi’s neck.

Monica honks when she’s outside. Loqi grabs his overnight bag and his leather jacket. He hesitates at the door, saying his goodbye. 

Cor tenses. He should just tell him to wish Iris a happy birthday. Or to be careful on the roads. Something innocuous but familiar. But instead, he gets up from the table, resolving to kiss Loqi goodbye.

It's terribly sentimental. And Cor thinks it's better if Loqi doesn't come back. Loqi wants safety, security, a home. Cor can't give him those things. Not in this world. Maybe not in any world.

But he leans down to press his lips to Loqi’s fuller ones, letting his hand rest against Loqi’s waist. Loqi kisses back, softer than his usual fierce enthusiasm. Something about that makes Cor ache.

Loqi slips out the door. Cor waits to hear Monica’s truck pull away. But it doesn't. Instead, Monica honks again. And again. Until Cor heads outside.

Monica is smiling from the driver’s seat, “Iris said not to take ‘no’ for an answer. My ass is on the line!”

“No,” Cor argues, “the outpost…”

“Will be fine for forty-eight hours. And she said, and I quote ‘if it's not, they've been doing a terrible job in the first place’ endquote.”

Cor knows he can't fight both Monica and the absent Iris. Loqi just sits quietly in the passenger seat, eyes straight ahead.

“Fine.”

He doesn't have time to change or primp. Just enough to toss some extra clothing in a bag and head out to the truck.

\--

Once in Lestallum, Monica apologizes that the only lodgings they've got available are a shared apartment. She stays there too, when she's in town. So do some others from the Crownsguard. Dustin doesn't come by too often. But some of the others should be here for the party.

There isn't a private bedroom for them, so they both toss their bags onto the couch. Cor will sleep on the floor or something. Then Monica can drive them back in the morning, when she's on her way out to her posting.

Technically, the party has already started. Cor excuses himself to wash his face. He tells Loqi to go on ahead, he'll be down soon. Loqi’s been quiet since the outpost. Out of character, for him.

Cor doesn't do much to get ready, he still keeps his hair cropped close. But he takes the time alone to breathe, try and compose himself before the party. Socializing with that many people at once doesn't sit easily with him.

The streets of Lestallum are always busy now. Lucis’ population is concentrated here. Easier to manage resources, with everyone in one place. All power and water and most of their food now originates in the city. 

He walks to the Leville. Iris’ party is in one of the ballrooms that residents used to rent for weddings and the like. There's a hand-painted banner hung over the main entrance, “Happy 19th, Iris!”

The lobby is empty, but Cor remembers how to find the ballroom. Most of the hotel is residential now. And normally the ballroom is used for staging supplies. 

He can hear mingled voices from the hallway. Cheering and clapping and conversation. The room is lit brightly and almost everyone has a drink in their hands. That's one thing they’ll never run out of in the darkness, liquor.

“Cor!” Iris beams, zeroing in on him immediately. She bounces over, careful to cover the mouth of her beer to keep it from spilling.

She's dressed all in black, her hair tied back and cheeks red. “Good, I would have had to come and personally knock some sense into you. But I knew Monica was the woman for the job,” she pokes Cor in the center of his chest.

“I know better than to cross an Amicitia,” Cor admits. Cor has had to face three of them now, over two generations. He can't imagine a family with a worse temper, once you get them going.

“Goo~oood!” she sing-songs. 

Cor doubts she's actually that drunk, but she grabs his wrist and leads him to the table where various decanters are set up. There's already a trash can full of empty bottles to one side. At Iris’ insistence, he pours himself a whiskey. After that, she tugs at him again to go say hello to her brother.

Gladiolus is open and friendly, his arm thrown over the shoulder of a woman Cor has never met. She seems much more enamored with Gladiolus than he is with her, but they both seem to be having a good time.

Iris and her brother talk a great deal, Cor barely needing to contribute. The woman at Gladiolus’ side, Nathalie, interjects at regular intervals. The flow of conversation suits Cor just fine. Staying quiet doesn't bother him.

But his attention shifts away from the conversation to another interaction across the room. 

Loqi speaks with Prompto, using animated gestures. Prompto’s body language is more closed off, his hands stuck in his pockets. Cor can't make out what they're saying. But as the discussion continues, it clearly shifts to an argument, Prompto throwing up his shaking hands; Loqi folding his arms over his chest. Reaching forward suddenly, Loqi snatches at Prompto’s wrist, dragging him back. The two blonds go back and forth another couple of times, before Prompto shakes off Loqi’s grip and darts from the room.

Cor half-excuses himself from the conversation, stalking over to where Loqi still stands. Putting his hand on Loqi’s shoulder, Cor startles him. Loqi visibly jumps when he's touched, though there is still a smug smile on his face.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” Cor tries not to raise his voice.

The center of Loqi’s forehead wrinkles, “it’s not of your business. It was a private conversation.”

“Really? Because from the looks of it, Prompto didn't want to be having it.”

“Oh,” Loqi hisses, “why are you so concerned with Prompto all of a sudden?” His face is a model of defiance, but his cheeks are red.

“Prompto has been through...a lot. You shouldn't hassle him.”

Sneering, Loqi steps away, “You're so chivalrous.” His face drops, and just for a moment he looks away. “I see how it is.”

“How what is?” Cor asks, but Loqi has already run from the room.

\--

Cor finds Prompto first, tucked into an alcove by the window, just off the Leville lobby. He's curled up on the window sill, knees pressed in close to his chest. Staring out onto the street, Prompto is silent. Cor is careful as he approaches him.

“Prompto?” he asks.

Prompto turns, his eyes are dry, but rimmed read. He's been through so much these past years. They all have. But Cor knows things have been harder on Prompto compared to most of them. In Insomnia...Noctis was the center of his world. While Prompto tries his best to project cheerful optimism, Cor doubts very much that it's sincere.

“Are you alright?” Cor asks. He's not much for comfort, but he feels partly responsible for Loqi’s actions.

“Oh,” Prompto smiles, “yeah, never better,” he shows the whites of his teeth.

“You don't...I'm sorry,” Cor shakes his head, “I don't know what he said. But I'm sorry.”

Prompto shakes his head, still smiling, “It's okay. I reacted badly, I mean,” he wraps his hand around his wrist. “I knew, you know, about...how we’re the same. Loqi and me. But I didn't say anything the last time we saw each other and...I guess. I wish I were braver. It's good, that we,” he rubs his thumb over the leather band, “that he talked to me about it.”

Cor frowns, he doesn't know what Prompto is talking about. Though Prompto seems to think that Cor should know. Whatever it is, Prompto doesn't want to say directly. And Cor isn't about to push him.

“Loqi can be an asshole,” Cor admits in defeat.

“But he's your asshole, right?” Prompto laughs. “That's….good…”

Cor sighs, he wants to make a Prompto feel better, he really does. But he doesn't have the words, “Yeah, I guess.”

\--

“What did you tell him?” Cor asks, as soon as the apartment door closes. Everyone else should still be at Iris’ party. So it's just Loqi in the apartment, his back against the couch’s armrest, an open book in his lap.

Loqi keeps his voice even, flipping to the next page, “Why? Didn't you run to ask him first?”

Cor frowns. Well...he did. There's no use lying, “He said...you and he were the same...but.”

Loqi’s breathing stops. Silence hangs in the apartment air, a smothering blanket choking out their voices. Sitting bolt upright, Loqi dashes for the door, trying to streak past Cor.

Cor’s reflexes are fast enough that he grabs at Loqi before he can get to the door, turning to pin him against the closest wall, “what the fuck?”

Loqi shakes, pulling one hand to cover his face, the other hand, he tries to hide behind his back, “Just do it now, then,” Loqi says, his voice uneven. “If it's what you want. If he told you.”

“What I want? I don't even know what you two are talking about?” Cor admits. Now he's just exasperated with them both.

Loqi pulls his arm away from his face. He's terrified, “It's nothing,” Loqi tries to deflect.

Cor sighs, letting go of Loqi and letting his feet touch the floor. But he keeps the other man pinned in. He doesn't want Loqi running again. “Just tell me….I won't...I won't be angry.”

Loqi laughs, full-chested and hysterical, “You'll kill us. You want him, but if you knew.”

“Astrals, I don't ‘want’ Prompto,” he doesn't. Not like he aches for Loqi sometimes, in spite of his better judgement. Yes, he wishes Prompto wasn't so terribly sad. But it's not the same as wanting.

“I should have known,” Loqi babbles. “If I tell you. It will make sense. I bet you've always wondered, why you want to fuck me. But it makes sense now. If who you really want Prompto. That I'm just a replacement body.”

“How much did you have to drink?” Cor can't think of another reason for Loqi’s behavior. “Just tell me,” he tries to be gentle. Loqi is shaking again. Cor takes one step back, then two. If he runs again, he’ll let Loqi go. They're going nowhere together.

“Okay, okay,” Loqi huffs, his composure coming back in fits and starts, “here,” he reaches out his hand for Cor’s, come with me.”

They only go as far as the couch, sitting side by side. Loqi holds Cor’s larger hand in both of his, drumming his fingers over Cor’s knuckles, sliding them over his palm.

“Before I tell you….I want you to know….I-” Loqi shakes his head, “I've been happy with you.” Drawing his hands back, Loqi fingers at the band around his wrist. Cor’s never thought much of it before. But...he's never seen Loqi without it. Even when they sleep together. That's not particularly odd. But then he remembers Prompto’s covered wrist.

It's so obvious. Now.

He knows, even before Loqi finishes removing the band, turning the outside of his wrist to show Cor the barcode stamped across his flesh, “I was made by the Empire’s Magitek Trooper program.”

“And Prompto was too…”

Loqi nods, “Yes, records show he...escaped. But I…” Loqi laughs, “I was happy with who I was. I was told the Empire expected great things from me. They made me feel wanted.”

“Loved?”

“My parents loved me,” Loqi is quick to answer, “the couple who raised me. But, no, not after that.”

Moving slowly, Cor takes Loqi’s wrist, tracing over the black lines. They're slightly raised. Underneath the black diamonds, Cor can feel where he's been implanted.

Cor swallows thickly, “There's no Empire now…”

“No,” Loqi says, “even if there were. This isn't the future I wanted. This isn't why I was fighting. Ardyn played us all for fools.”

“Then why did you? Why did you fight?” Cor has wondered, but never asked. Fearing that he would hate the answer. Or maybe that he wouldn't. Maybe he would start to think that was Loqi had done was forgivable. 

Loqi shrugs, “I knew nothing else. I wanted the praise,” he smiles, “I was good at it. I wanted to best you.”

Sighing, Cor rubs his thumb over Loqi’s wrist again, “you're human, after all.”

“Something like that,” Loqi smiles.


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks before their scheduled assault on the Vesperpool, Iris sends a replacement Hunter to Old Lestallum. Her name is Janette, and Loqi supposes she's kind of pretty, with a wide smile and shorn hair. She brings a note from Iris too, telling them they're on leave until the operation.

Iris and Cor planned the whole thing over the radio. Six of them are going to retake the outpost, Cor, Iris, Loqi, Monica, Gladiolus, and Dave. They’ll meet in Lestallum then drive together North. If they manage to get a foothold, Loqi and Cor will stay behind to hold the pool.

Tactically, it’s sound. Having access to the Vesperpool will give them another source of fresh water. And the engineers think they're close to better power distribution. With those two things sorted, they might, might, be able to transfer fisherpeople to the outpost too, instead of just two Hunters.

But before then, two weeks forced vacation.

Cor scowls when he reads the letter. Loqi can't help but beam, resting his elbows on the kitchen table that's been theirs for a year. The time off will be nice. Whether or not Cor wants to pout about it.

“Where do you want to go?” Loqi asks.

Janette’s still outside, unpacking the trunk of her car. Loqi and Cor are basically packed too, though there are a couple of bags they’ll toss in the backseat when they leave. The trunk of Cor’s coupe is already stuffed full.

“I don't…” Cor frowns, “we should go to Hammerhead. So I can have the car serviced.”

“Practical,” Loqi drolls. Though, it's not like they can go on some sort of romantic getaway in any case. So Hammerhead will have to do.

“And,” Cor hesitates, stuffing the letter into his front pocket.

“And?”

“We’ll see. After we get to Hammerhead.”

\--

Cor has Loqi drive for the first couple of hours. It's not like before the Scourge, when there might be traffic on the roads. They don't see anyone else for miles and miles. Still, Loqi’s palms sweat, gripped to the steering wheel. Because even though driving the car is, in theory, infinitely more simple than piloting a mech, it still doesn't come as second nature. It still takes attention. Loqi hasn't built up the muscle memory yet.

For what it's worth, Cor doesn't let up his guard, quietly offering suggestions when Loqi starts to gently swerve. Loqi is used to these tight, fast motions of combat, not the gentle sway of the road.

But there's something Loqi really, really likes about driving. Like, even though the world is closed off now by the darkness, he could go somewhere, unrestricted. Loqi never had that option. Now, it sort of feels like he does.

Though, honestly, he'd still want Cor to come with him. Wherever he goes.

Eventually Cor takes over the driving. And Loqi is thankful for that too. They’ll switch off, Cor says, so they don't have to stop until Hammerhead. They have the gas for it. So Loqi dozes in the passenger seat, the vibrations of the door rattling him to sleep as they traverse the roads.

The drive to Vesperpool will be longer. More dangerous. They’ll stop in Lestallum for gas on the way there. When it’s time. Loqi only half-listens to Cor’s plans. They’ve been through this seven or eight times already. But Loqi doesn’t mind listening.

\--

Hammerhead is bright. Blindingly so. Loqi has gotten used to the dimmer bulbs at Old Lestallum. But with all the people moving through Hammerhead, and its importance as a forward bulwark against Insomnia, they get priority power.

Loqi stumbles out of the passenger seat, his legs cramped and sore. They didn’t end up switching off in equal shifts, and Cor has been the one driving for the bulk of the trip. Loqi smacks his hands down on the roof of Cor’s coupe, planting his legs on the pavement and trying to arch his back to work out the tension.

Cor mutters something under his breath, moving to stand between Loqi and the diner, facing outward so they’re back-to-back. Loqi smiles against the car window, stretching until his back finally cracks.

“Need to talk to Cindy about the car,” Cor explains, still acting as a shield so no one stares at Loqi’s ass.

Loqi spins around, leaning back against the car. Reaching forward, he grabs at the back of Cor’s coat, but doesn’t pull. “Yeah, of course. Meet up with you later?”

“Yeah,” Cor turns around, dropping his hand to Loqi’s hip. It just sort of...hangs there for a minute, a soft pressure against his jeans before Cor pulls back, heading off towards the garage.

Loqi kicks at the pebbles on the pavement, sticking his hands into his back pockets. There are people in the diner, nestled around tables in the fluorescent lights. He heads over, hoping to find some way of amusing himself.

While the tables are still in place, and they use the kitchens, much of the floor space has been converted over to inventory staging for the Hunters. Heavy wooden crates line the floors, sometimes two or three boxes high. They’ve been allocated with some care, though, so people can still look out the windows while they eat.

Loqi heads to the counter to order something. They didn't bother eating on the road. And it's not polite to occupy a table without paying for something. Takka asks him what he wants.

“Do you have anything with vegetables?” he asks, because honestly, it’s been awhile. And the vitamin tablets just aren’t the same.

Takka smiles at him, “You must have come from one of the outposts?”

“Yeah,” Loqi admits, “I was working Old Lestallum.”

“With Cor?” Takka asks, “you’re Loqi, then?”

Loqi flinches. He didn’t expect someone out here to know that much. But maybe Iris told him, “Yeah.”

“Shorter than I expected, is all. Iris says you’re good. Must be, to keep up with the Marshal.”

Loqi feels his ears turn pink. Because yeah, he can keep up with Cor in more ways than one, he likes to think. And he would scream it from the rooftops if Cor would let him. Not that anyone would fucking care. But he feels strange and boxed in, in a way he hasn’t in years.

“Loqi!” a voice behind him exclaims. And honestly, Loqi would have never thought he’d be this relieved to hear Prompto Argentum shout behind his back.

“Prompto,” Loqi turns around, just in time for Prompto to grab him by the shoulder.

Prompto looks a little sheepish, his hair falling in front of his face. He hasn’t bothered to style it up, “I should...anyway, um, you’re hungry, let’s eat.” Prompto doesn’t manage to make any sense. But that’s okay.

Loqi leaves the ordering to Prompto, but slides in to pay for them both before Prompto can pull out his gil chit. They sit at one of the empty booths and wait for their food to come up at the counter. Prompto jumps up to grab it. They still haven’t managed a normal conversation.

_Hey, how you doing? Not bad. Shame how our father helped destroy the world. Shame that we’re pretty science projects with nowhere to go._

They eat in silence for awhile. But, eventually, Prompto slows down, picking at his food instead of shoveling it frantically into his mouth.

“At Iris’ party…”

“It’s nothing,” Loqi winces. It is something. But it doesn’t have to be.

“I knew too, you know. That first time we saw you...at the blockade. The transport opened up, and you were standing there on the edge,” Prompto swallows hard, “I knew then when I saw you. I knew you were like me.”

“We didn't exactly have the time to talk,” Loqi snickers, leaning forward to rest his chin on folded arms. Both of them forget about their food.

Prompto scratches at the back of his neck, before pulling his hand around to his chin. He scratches there too, leaving red streaks behind. “I wondered, you know. If the others looked like me...underneath.”

Loqi lets his eyes drift closed. Prompto really doesn't want to know the answer to that question. Loqi wishes he didn't know. But he was sixteen when Ardyn took him to the labs, then to the facility where the Magitek Troopers were assembled. “All the potential you possess,” Ardyn had cooed in Loqi’s ear, bending over Loqi’s shoulder to put his mouth close. His breath had be hot. Loqi hated it. But could say nothing.

“They're bigger,” Loqi rolls his head to the side, looking out onto the diner floor. If he watches Prompto’s heart breaking, he might be forced to tell a lie. “They get this growth hormone that we didn't. Because we matured normally. The Troopers are….rushed.”

They all have their father’s eyes. At least at first. But Prompto doesn't have to know.

“Oh,” Prompto says softly, “I guess that makes sense.” He scratches at his face again. His nails are bitten down too far, raw and torn. It must hurt to do anything with his hands. “I'm glad you told me.”

“Why?” Loqi has never found the topic to be important. Even if he's irrevocably shaped by who he is. What he was intended to be.

“I,” Prompto scratches again, this time breaking through the barrier of his skin. When he pulls his hand back, there's blood on his ruined nail. “Shit.”

He tries to stop the blood up with the cheap, brown napkins from the dispenser on the table. He balls up one and presses it to his chin.

They don't finish their conversation this time either. But they're getting closer, admission by deflection.

\--

Cindy is going to need sixteen hours with Cor’s car. Not that it’ll take her that long to fix. But there are three repairs ahead of his, and somewhere in there, she's gotta sleep.

Loqi is sitting crosslegged on one of the communal cots when Cor tells him that the hunting party is going out. Prompto stands just behind him, fidgeting as always. Loqi has no interest in the hunt, begging off because he's tired. Cor tells him that it's fine. They're supposed to be on vacation, after all.

“If Iris finds out you're working, she’ll skin you,” Loqi turns over the page of one of Cindy’s engine manuals. She’d let him borrow it. Cars are not so different than mechs. Simpler, cheaper to mass-manufacture. But the basic engineering concepts are the same. Loqi is interested enough in the topic to keep reading.

Cor crosses the room, leaving Prompto in the doorway. Bending at the waist, he kisses Loqi on the cheek. However brief, it's deliberate. “Then I better make sure I don't get caught.”

“Maybe I tell on you,” Loqi teases.

“Maybe you do,” but Cor already has his katana slung over his back. Prompto has a pistol on his hip. If Cor wants to hunt, Loqi isn't about to stop him.

\--

It's hours before the Hunters return. Cor’s footfall is distinctive in the quiet of the barrack. Loqi rolls from his back onto his side, away from the door. He’d recognize Cor’s light step anywhere.

He expects next to hear the springs groan in the bed next to his. It was still empty when he fell asleep. And if another occupant had taken it, Loqi would have surely noticed.

But instead there’s a gentle shove at Loqi’s shoulder. Then another one when he doesn't respond. Cor isn't going to let him be.

“What?” Loqi asks, forcing annoyance into his voice.

Cor crouches down low, so he's level with the bed. The lights are dim but Cor’s eyes are bright, catching in the low-watt bulbs.

“Why me?” Cor asks. As if that question is supposed to be decipherable.

“What?”

“Of all the people in this world, why me?” Reaching out, he runs his dirty fingers through Loqi’s loose hair. There’s ash across his face too. Slime from the daemons. “Why me, for you?”

“Do you want me to say it's fate?” Loqi snickers. He pulls at the front of Cor’s shirt. The cot is narrow, and neither of them are small. Well, Loqi is short, and his chest is narrow, but weight clings to his hips and thighs like moss, soft and lush. He wants Cor in bed with him, “It's not fate.”

“The Astrals don't care enough about the plights of men to gift us fates,” Cor says, climbing into bed.

For Loqi, it's simpler than that, “I wasn't made by the Astrals.”

They're close enough now that Loqi can hear Cor’s heart, steady and strong in his chest. He tucks his head underneath Cor’s chin, letting it poke into his scalp. Cor wraps his arm around Loqi’s waist, letting his hand settle against his back. The barracks are shared space. And Loqi doesn't think they're alone. But they're not doing anything particularly untoward. Just sharing heat.

“That's right,” Cor sighs. And something inside Loqi twists. That vicious, angry part of himself he keeps trying to strangle. To finally kill off. Now that he's older. Now that he no longer belongs to the Empire. Now that there is no Empire to which he could belong. “We made ourselves,” Cor finishes, “maybe that's why.”

Loqi twists his hand in the front of Cor’s shirt, until he's sure he’s stretched the fabric. Pulling down, he exposes Cor’s collarbones, the rake of it jutting out. Loqi presses his lips there, against the bone, and Cor’s fingers tap against his spine.


	5. Chapter 5

Their generator is dying.

Loqi turns on one of their battery-operated hand lanterns, but only after he checks to make sure there are six sets of two batteries left, twelve in all. He’ll need the extra light from the lamp to see around the back of the bulky generator, as he tries to figure out if there is a way to squeeze more juice out of it.

Their resupply to the Vesperpool outpost was due six days ago. In six more, they won't be able to turn on the lights. Without the lights, there's nothing to fight for. They won't be able to hold the pool.

Cor worries that the supply truck ended up stuck somewhere along the road. There's enough gas, he promises Loqi, that he can go looking in the car. 

Loqi asks him to wait, just long enough that he can try to wring some more efficiency out of the generator. Then Cor can take the car and search the roads. But first, Cor needs to stand watch so Loqi can concentrate and not worry about daemons crawling up his ass.

Loqi takes out his toolkit, unscrewing the back panel where the generator plugs into the grid. He tells Cor to be ready, he’s taking down the lights completely, 180 seconds max.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” Cor growls. 

Loqi smiles back at him, hopping up onto his feet to give Cor a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. He has to come up onto his toes to plant it. “I haven't let you down yet, have I?”

Cor snickers, because Loqi has let him down lots of times. But none of them are worth mentioning now.

“Three, two, one,” Loqi counts down as Cor readies his weapon.

Cutting the power, the outpost goes dark. Once the light dims, the daemons scream. A horrible, piercing noise. This is just the opportunity they've been waiting for, clawing at the edges of the outpost, waiting for the first sign of instability in a standoff that has lasted years.

Loqi tries to tune them out. But he can't help but wince as he hears the sound of steel sinking into thick skin, Cor’s labored breathing as he fights the monsters back. Loqi works by the light of the hand lamp, his palm starting to sweat as he splices wire together, rerouting the power from inside their shack to the floodlights outside. 

His hands are shaking by the time he finishes. Cor’s breathing, his grunts and cries of pain too painfully loud in his ears. Finishing the patch, Loqi slams the cover shut, hitting the switch on the generator to turn the lights back on.

He rushes out from behind the generator, grabbing his spear as he dashes towards Cor. The air smells of rot and bile, too thick and heavy in his nostrils. The daemons are approaching at full force, even with the lights turned back on.

Burying the tip of his spear into the dirt, he launches himself at the nearest beast, throwing the full weight of his body into the dark, wriggling mass of flesh and bone. He knocks the daemon back, its slimy body trying to wrap around Loqi as they fall. 

With the daemon on its back, Loqi rolls away so Cor can bury his sword in its underbelly. Loqi doesn't wait to watch him finish, sliding back towards his spear to next take on the wave of imps incoming. 

He sweeps wide, trying to knock the imps back further. Two get caught in the arc of his spear, the third just out of reach. Loqi grabs his sidearm, shooting the one that got away in its thin, concave chest. Cor’s footfall is loud in the dirt, coming up behind Loqi and piercing a second imp.

They fight until the point of exhaustion, reminding the daemons that they still hold the Vesperpool. And there's nothing they can fucking do to stop them.

Cor drops onto the ground, putting his head between his knees. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, before leaning back, hands moving into the dirt behind him to support his weight. He tilts his head to face Loqi, looking up and still panting from exertion. There's blood along his hairline, just a trickle, mixing in with the silvery gray of his hair. 

Loqi flops down beside him, letting his spear fall to the ground. Leaning against Cor’s side, he tries to feel nothing at all. But he knows Cor has to go. He has to look for the supply truck and figure out what happened, before it's too late. They've held the Vesperpool for years. And they're not giving it up this easy.

“I should go,” Cor says, leaning slightly back into Loqi. “The sooner I go, the sooner I'll be back.”

“Yeah,” Loqi muses.

Cor snickers, “How long have we been together?”

Loqi bites, “Don't talk like that.”

“I'm just saying, you're not often at a loss for words,” turning his head, he kisses into Loqi’s hair. “I've forgotten what quiet sounds like.”

“Shut up,” Loqi snaps. His temper has gotten better with age. But at least once a week, Cor talks like one of them is about to die. Like he forgets he's the Immortal. And Loqi is the one Niff he's never managed to kill. 

Cor pushes himself to his feet, sheathing his sword once he's standing. “How much gas do we have?”

“Plenty,” Loqi confirms, “enough in the storage tanks to get us to Lestallum, if we have to.”

Cor nods, “I’ll be fine, then. See you soon.”

Loqi wraps his arms around his bent knees. He refuses to say goodbye, because Cor will be back. And they're fatalistic enough already.

\--

Cor returns just fine, but without the battery packs. No sign of the resupply. He says he needs a shower. Loqi grunts that he should use cold water. As if Cor doesn't know not to turn on the boiler. They've gone without since the van failed to arrive on schedule.

With his re-wire to the grid, they have eight days of power now, instead of six. They’ll wait six more days. But then...they’ll have to abandon the outpost. Fuck. He and Cor have fought for years to keep it. And just like that, it's all undone. 

He listens while Cor runs the water, scrubbing down from their battle earlier and four hours in the car. Loqi showered while Cor was gone. The water is freezing, and so hard that soap won't lather. But that's the least of their problems now.

Cor doesn't say anything to him when he returns from the shower. Just flops down into bed, tugging the sheets over his naked body. Loqi curses at the fact Cor still looks as good as he does, hard lines and flat planes. Despite how harsh their lifestyle is, Loqi’s just as soft around the middle as he's always been. He turned thirty, two months back, and he likes to think his face has gotten more angular. But maybe that's just wishful thinking. It's not like he gets much opportunity to look at himself.

Stripping out of his clothes, he crawls into bed next to Cor. He hits the clock, so that one of them will get up at a decent time to do another sweep of the outpost for daemons. But Loqi is sure they have another hour, at least. And the imps always come first. Nasty, noisy fuckers. Sure enough to wake them as the alarm.

They don't speak. But as Loqi settles down into the sheets, Cor reaches for him, dragging Loqi until they're chest to chest, Cor blanketing his body over top of Loqi’s to keep him pinned. Cor reaches down with his free hand to pull the sheet up further, high enough to cover their heads.

“I love you,” Cor whispers against Loqi’s skin. He's obviously exhausted, his voice already starting to slur. When he's tired, the affection comes more freely. Sweet words and gentle touches, like the flat of his hand pressed against the small of Loqi’s back as Cor holds him close.

Loqi presses his nose against the center of Cor’s chest, not minding how the coarse hair tickles against it. “I love you too, now go to sleep. We don't have that much time.”

But that's not true. They have all the time they need. They've had years and years of this world of ruin, the endless dark that still hasn't ended. Ten years of it. Ten years of building new lives out of old scraps. So what if they're about to get torn up all over again?

\--

“Cor? Loqi?” Iris’ voice comes over the radio, staticky and desperate.

Cor rolls over, grabbing his handheld. Out here, they don't get transmissions often. Iris must be close, “Amicitia?”

“Cor, something has happened on the Quay. I've already dispatched Talcott.”

Bolting upright, Cor’s voice shakes. Loqi can only just detect the nervousness bubbling under the surface. “What has happened, Iris?”

“I think it's him. I think it's Noct…”

Cor doesn't move. Neither does Loqi. The Lucians have been waiting for their King’s return for ten years now. Loqi won't admit as much out loud, but he's been waiting too. 

“Where are you?” 

“Not that close, I just had to get into radio range. I have to get back to Lestallum.” Iris’ responsibilities are to order and stability. As much as she may be excited at her Chosen King’s return, she has to remain in Lestallum to oversee operations if they're wrong. “Can you get to Hammerhead?”

Cor drags his hand down his face, “Yeah, yeah it will take me a couple of days,” he looks down at Loqi. Loqi isn't sure what question Cor is trying to ask with his eyes. All he can do in return is nod. Because whatever it is Cor needs, Loqi will do his best to comply.

“Okay, alright,” Iris inhales sharply, loud enough to carry over the radio. “I don't think we’re wrong,” she says.

\--

The car ride is long and dull, but filled with a nervous tension that almost suffocates Loqi as he tries to breathe. Before the Dark, Cor devoted his whole life to his King, his Empire. With the same enthusiasm, he has served the abandoned continent, helping the others keep their nation afloat. And, not for the first time, Loqi feels an emptiness in his chest for a home that was built on lies. He doesn't know if it is better or worse that he was a puppet.

They take turns driving, but Cor’s shift is always longer, pushing just another mile, then two, then ten. Loqi tries to stop him the first time, insisting that they need to split the driving equally, but Cor grits his teeth and says he's fine, he can keep going, Loqi should sleep while he can.

Stopping is treacherous along the route, but just about every other of the old service stations still has power and a handful of Hunters to hold the line. So they can at least get out and piss and stretch their legs every four hours or so. Stopping doesn't improve Cor’s mood. But, then again, Loqi’s not sure what could.

By the time they see the lights of Hammerhead, Loqi knows he smells fucking awful and every part of him aches from sitting down so long. He hasn't been this inactive...well...ever. And being cooped up in the car with a disgruntled Cor doesn't help anything. Loqi tries to understand Cor’s position here, he really does. It could very well be that his King has returned. It could also be that they've ceded the Vesperpool for nothing. It’s probably already overrun with monsters. But they couldn't afford to wait, and one person can't hold the pool alone. So leaving Loqi behind wasn’t an option.

Cor doesn't wait for him, throwing the car into park and unfastening his seatbelt. The trunk is full of weapons Cor and Loqi have salvaged over the years, cleaned and sharpened and cared for, should this day ever come. 

Stalking towards the diner, Cor leaves Loqi behind. That's fine. Loqi tries to amuse himself, but just ends up leaning back against the passenger side, staring at the starless sky.

Minutes tick by and Loqi looks towards the diner. Cor is there, in the fluorescent lights, hands shoved in his pockets, talking to someone big, with dark hair. Iris’ brother, Gladio. Next to him stands a shorter, slighter man, with hair that falls into his eyes and a neatly trimmed, dark beard.

Noctis, the King. So it's true.

Loqi laughs to himself. It's fucking true. Ten fucking years and this brat walks in to save the world. Covering his face with his hands, Loqi tries to stifle his laughter. It's unbecoming, but he's swept up with such a wave of relief, it's hard to stop.

The night might end. This nightmare might be over.

Someone takes the spot beside him, putting his weight against the car. Loqi turns to face Prompto. He should have known that he would be here too.

“It's really happening,” Prompto says, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. The thinness of their lips is something they’ll always have in common. Along with their father’s eyes. Loqi still can't quite consider them brothers, though they were built from the same sciences. They're connected, always, but Loqi can't stand to think of them as proper siblings. 

“I would think you, of all people, would be thrilled,” Loqi doesn't mean to sound so callous. But he knows that Noctis and Prompto used to be lovers.

Prompto runs his fingers through his hair. The scrap of a beard on his chin reminds Loqi why he always shaves. It never grows in thick enough to be taken seriously. “I only just got him back...and now,” Prompto shakes his head. “The others...Gladio, Ignis, it's their duty to serve him. I mean, they're his friends too. I'd never say they weren't but,” Prompto bites his bottom lip, “I keep thinking...what if I could stop this? Am I that selfish, that I would try to convince Noctis not to…”

Loqi realizes now that Noctis means to sacrifice himself. Of course, such an obvious detail. Prompto has only just gotten him back as a prelude to his final departure. 

“Maybe you are that selfish,” Loqi comments. Because in Prompto’s place, he thinks he might burn the entire fucking planet to the ground if it meant keeping Cor from harm. They were designed to be awful, after all. “But that doesn't mean you'll act on it.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, barely above a whisper. 

Loqi almost envies him. Because he had the pleasure of killing Verstael, and Loqi still wishes he could have just a taste. Now, he’ll be there to kill Ardyn. Lucky.

Cor comes out of the Crow’s Nest, Gladio, Ignis, and Noctis close behind. Loqi figures they're coming to look at the weapons and pops the trunk for Cor, before excusing himself. He just needs to stay out of the fucking way.

But Cor calls out to him, asking him where he’s going. And there’s a softness in his voice that wasn’t there through the long, bleak road-trip. Maybe some of the anxiety has dissipated, now that he knows for certain that his King has come.

Loqi still doesn’t talk much, keeping his arms crossed over his chest while Cor walks the other men through the weapons he’s managed to procure. Ignis chooses a set of daggers. Snickering, Loqi holds back on commenting about Ignis’ skills with a polearm. Loqi has always, always thought himself superior, even if he did lose, twice. Besides, those confrontations were in the mech. Not one on one with the King’s retainer. 

Prompto gets a new gun, twirling it around before tossing it to Noctis, who reaches out his hand to catch. But the pistol never reaches him, disappearing in a wave of blue before ever making contact. Loqi has read about the Lucian Arsenal, how it’s supposed to work through genetic magics, augmented with precise constructs meant for amplifying and corralling the Power of Kings into usable chunks. But knowing how it operates, in theory, is so very different than witnessing the casualness with which Noctis wields it. Dropping swords and potions into and out of physical existence with simple gestures.

“We should go,” Noctis says. And his voice even sounds different now. Not the pitch or tone, but the weight of each word. He’s exhausted. He’s always been exhausted. But still, he cannot stop.

They start to load up in Talcott’s van. He’s agreed to drive the party as close to Insomnia as he can, without alerting too many daemons to their presence. After that, they’ll be on their own, having to cross the last mile on foot.

“Do you want to go with them?” Loqi asks, running his fingers down Cor’s arm. From his elbow down to his wrist. He’s not sure Cor can even feel the touch through his jacket. But it seems like the right thing to do. To touch him, in case he decides to join them. In case this is their last moment together.

Cor responds, “Yes, but this isn’t my battle. Even if it’s my war.” He sighs heavily, taking his hand to grab Loqi’s. They watch as the van drives towards the lights of the capital. The nest in which Ardyn waits.

“What now?” Loqi asks, “we twiddle our thumbs until the sun comes up? Or doesn’t?” Fear grips him tight in his stomach. If they fail, the march of darkness continues on. Or maybe something worse. Maybe Ardyn finally comes to swallow them all. And just for a moment, Loqi is ten years old again. The Chancellor coming to take him from his parents. He was made to be consumed by empire. And he’s dodged his fate for too long already. 

Shaking his head, Cor admits, “I don’t know.”

\--

Neither of them can sleep, though Cindy has been kind enough to offer a room in the garage. Cor sits up, doing nothing. Loqi tries to read. In the end, they decide to hunt. It’s what they both know best.

They take Cor’s car towards Insomnia, and for a brutal minute Loqi thinks they might be going to join with Noctis and his retinue anyway. But Cor pulls off to the side of the road, halfway there. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he leans over to kiss Loqi, his hand in the back of his hair to hold him close, before climbing out of the driver’s side.

The daemons here are somewhat different than the ones out at the pool. Loqi thinks it a good distraction, trying to learn new strategies rather than falling back into old routines. Even so, the daemons have always tried to win their way through numbers, rather than by skill. And both Cor and Loqi are too practiced to run much risk in fighting them. They’re adept at not drawing too much attention all at once. 

Loqi loses track of time, but that’s normal for when he fights. Especially with Cor. He falls easily into the flow of battle, and tries not to think of this as his purpose, even if it feels comfortable. Fucking Cor feels just as good. So there’s no need to overthink. 

The imp dancing around Loqi’s feet wails as he pierces through, lifting the little creature on the tip of his spear before flinging it into the darkness. Only, this time, the inky blackness of the sky looks too warm. Too red around the edges. Loqi’s breath catches in his throat.

The next thing he knows, Cor has him around the waist, lifting Loqi up off the ground so his feet dangle. His eyes go wide and mouth slack. He can’t believe it. The moment isn’t peaceful. The daemons on the approach still stream in agony as the rising sun banishes them in a slow, steady wave of light. 

Cor puts him back down on the ground. He’s beaming, in a way Loqi rarely sees. Neither one of them are prone to unadulterated happiness. They’ve known joy in their years together. And love. But that’s not the same as letting go.

Loqi feels himself burst into tears. He doesn’t mean to cry. But he can’t help it, as the tension leaves his body. Crouching low to the ground, he tries to hide his face in his arms, while Cor whispers it’s okay. 

Cor is still smiling as Loqi manages to pull his face out of the cradle of his arms. At least the tears have stopped, even if his face looks streaky. And behind Cor’s golden-gray hair, the sun breaks the horizon in earnest, painting the Lucian soil almost crimson.

It’s been twenty years since Loqi first saw Cor, the Immortal, fighting through waves of empty bodies, designed from the same blueprints as himself. It’s been ten years since they watched the sun disappear from view. Neither knowing what the future held. And now? 

“You’re missing the sunrise,” Loqi croaks, pushing at Cor’s shoulder to turn him around. They should share this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! I hope you enjoyed the fic. Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated.
> 
> I, of course, can't take credit for the idea that Loqi might be an MT, the idea has been floating around tumblr, and I've seen a number of different people bring it up. I just sort of ran with things from there.
> 
> I'm not leaving this story "open" in terms of number of chapters. Because I can't fully commit to a multi-chapter fic for Loqi/Cor right now. But I plan on using this for any other bits and pieces I might write for them. So if you're interested in more, you can subscribe to this story, and I'll put everything here.
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com).


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